by Teri Terry
I crawl. Stop and rest a moment, and crawl some more. Now I can hear new music: water, running water? A splashing waterfall. Beautiful, like Gecko’s waterfall.
But this one is real. It falls through rocks, here, to a pool, then over cliffs to find the sea. There is lush greenness all around – trees, ferns, grasses – unknown and exotic to London eyes. I kneel at the edge of the pool, and drink deep. Drops of cool water spray and soothe my skin. Trees block the glass eyes; fallen leaves and grass on the ground are soft. They welcome me.
I sleep.
39
Cold. Cold is reaching for me, deep inside – calling me back. I don’t want it, but it keeps prodding at my awareness, until finally it can’t be ignored. I stretch, yawn, and open my eyes.
It’s dark. Night. How long have I been here? I sit up and rub cold hands on cold arms, then hug my knees in close.
What now, Einstein?
I have no answers. I’m freezing, and jump at weird rustling noises in the night. Are there snakes here? I fight the urge to switch my Implant on to check. I don’t want to be traced to this place: it is mine. A secret I don’t want to share.
Through trees, the distant PareCo glass dome shines, reflecting the full moon and starlight. It’s beautiful, but what were they doing to me? My mind is groggy, still half caught between sleep and exhaustion. It doesn’t want to think.
And it is miles away. I can’t believe I got this far.
I’m hungry. There is water here but no food, and there is no one else on this island but PareCo. There is no way off this island without PareCo, even if I knew where to go.
There is no other option. Even as it makes my stomach twist with a confused mix of longing and fear, I have to go back.
But I’m not ready yet.
What was happening to me there? I was loving being a Hacker, playing with the grid and the numbers, pulling strands to change myself, the world around me. So obsessed with what I was doing virtually that I was ignoring my body. Could I have died if I hadn’t left when I did? Something inside answers yes. I wasn’t too far away from completely losing it, losing even the strength to unplug. Not sleeping made me feel like I was drugged.
Was I hallucinating? Those silver letters in the void, spelling out my name, telling me to go. I must have imagined that.
But is sleep deprivation the whole story? When I left Marina, I’d been rocking and humming, just like Nanna used to. I didn’t even know I was doing it until she told me.
But Nanna used to sleep just fine – it wasn’t caused by sleep deprivation in her case. As much as I don’t want to think about it, maybe it is genetic. Maybe whatever was wrong with her is wrong with me, too, and no matter what I do I’m going to go that way: delusions. Fits. Death.
Still, it really felt like I was drugged.
Nanna was drugged; she was on so many meds it was hard to keep track of what and when.
But I was drugged too, wasn’t I? I was taking ANDs by the handful.
I sit bolt upright when it hits me. What – exactly – did I overhear Dr Rafferty say in the PIP, when he thought I couldn’t hear? I concentrate, really hard, but my mind was so fuzzy then. There was something about beta Implants, and drug interactions.
The only thing I’ve taken is ANDs. I never told anyone, but either they were spying on me or searched my room, because Dr Rafferty knew: he’d told me that if I got an Implant, I wouldn’t need them any more, so he knew about them then. He was wrong about that, but—
Wait: I was plugged in for forty days. The ANDs supply I had in my pocket would have run out in a fraction of that time. I had no idea it had been so long – must be something about hacking. Maybe when I’m in the grid it takes loads of time even though it feels like stuff happens really quickly. But I never got sick. I took ANDs from my pocket now and then because I thought I needed to – but not often enough to cover forty days.
There is only one possible answer. The PIP nutrient feed must have drugs added to it. Is that why Rafferty said I wouldn’t need to take them any more? He made it sound like it was because of getting an Implant, but he lied. The drugs were built into my PIP; they must have been.
Have they been experimenting on me to see if they can change Implants and drugs so even those who take ANDs can’t tell Implant images are false? Is that why I saw the brick wall at the bottom of the stairs as a wall, and could only see it as a force field through my silver grid?
They can’t drug people or experiment on them without consent. It must be illegal. And if they’re doing that, who knows what else they’re doing. If I’m right, I can report them, but this is all complete guesswork. Maybe Melrose’s dad could help. But I need proof.
Add that as another reason to all the others: no matter that everything inside screams bad idea, I have to go back.
I stand, and groan as I do so – stiff, sore, still tired – then turn to the pool for a drink. Stars reflect in the water. I kneel, move close to the water. Suddenly another is there, staring back at me:
Dark hair…pale skin…silver.
Astra?
Liquid fear runs through my veins; I jump back.
Am I hallucinating? Hesitant and trembling, I lean forward once again.
No. I’m not hallucinating – at least, it’s not Astra, or her ghost. It’s my own face reflected in the water, not hers looking up from it. But not my face at the same time. Goosebumps rise on my arms: I look like Astra. Silver winds around my left eye.
I look away, rub my eyes, and look back again.
Silver? Around my eye?
Am I still drugged, is that it?
No. My head is clearer now; still tired, but not exhausted and unable to think like before. All synapses are firing at top speed.
Silver: like my mother, Astra. Like Gecko. I raise a shaking hand to touch the marks, to trace them. The swirls and patterns: so beautiful. They don’t rub off. They’re part of my skin. That night at the fountain with Hex I thought I’d seen something on my face; I convinced myself it was just part of the starshine speckled on every surface in the dome from the endless reflecting glass, but I was wrong.
Gecko and Astra were S’hackers, the silver only visible to some, and only in starshine. A special type of Hackers – ones PareCo can’t detect.
My thoughts are whirling, spinning. All those things I could do in the VeeDubs – I wasn’t hacking, at least, not the way the others do. I was S’hacking. That’s why I could learn to do stuff so fast. The silver grid inside me? It isn’t part of the Implant; it is part of me. Once I knew how to use the Implant grid it was a simple step to the silver grid. That’s how I did those things.
And Gecko took me into the void through a silver hatch, a silver ladder reaching down from it into my Realtime hallway. He did that as a S’hacker. But there have been other silver doors: like the one I fell through that rescued me from Blood in the combat world. And the door from the VeeDub that took me straight to the void.
Did I make them? I must have done. When I desperately wanted something, was I unconsciously accessing the silver S’hacker grid?
Hackers can’t access the void without PareCo, or manipulate it. Somehow, I can.
I start walking back to PareCo, glad of the moonlight as I pick my way. The night air isn’t so cold now I’m moving, and something inside is strangely energised.
So, I’m a S’hacker. Like Astra. How did I not see it? The silver grid; the things I can do. Like most lost things, the answer was blindingly obvious once I found it.
Maybe I’m not mad or going that way. Maybe Nanna wasn’t, either: maybe it was all those drugs her doctors kept giving her that did it, like the ones I’ve been given here that had me rocking and humming like she used to do.
Maybe Gecko wasn’t, either. He didn’t trust PareCo; he thought Jezzamine and Danny were killed by them.
He said they’d captured him and were bringing him here, but I didn’t believe him.
Maybe I should have.
Gecko, where are you?
40
Can they see me, walking in the moonlight? The closer I get to the PareCo dome the more there is nowhere to hide. I walk tall and straight. There’s nothing else I can do.
I head for a door, a different one from where I left.
It opens; on the other side is a brick wall. I shrug and walk straight through it.
I head up the stairs to my level, and around to my room, half expecting someone to jump out and yell, gotcha! But it is quiet.
If it wasn’t a sleepwalking induced nightmare, someone was in my room checking it just after I left yesterday. Now nothing seems disturbed, no one is here. First up? A long hot shower. Fresh clothes; Centre clothes again. I’m overwhelmingly sleepy; just sleepy this time, not like yesterday’s trembling, fuzzy exhaustion.
Someone is bound to come, to ask questions. But until then?
I crawl into bed, close my eyes and am instantly asleep.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Hmmph? I open one eye. Light is streaming through my room, and someone is knocking – loudly – on the door.
No point in putting this off: they’ll just find keys. I get up, stretch, and open it.
‘Marina!’
She hugs me. ‘I’m so glad you’re all right.’
‘Of course I’m all right. I’ve just slept, like, a million hours.’ My stomach audibly growls. ‘And now I’m starving.’
‘You’re in luck. Dinner is in ten. They’ve got us all unplugged to meet the new lot of interns.’
‘New interns?’
‘Yep, the next intake is here.’ She eyes me. ‘Brush your hair or something. And turn your Implant back on. I think I broke a nail banging on your door.’
I brush my hair and teeth while Marina waits. Think Implant on, and a stream of unanswered messages flashes past: a few from Marina, one from Dad, and about a dozen from Hex.
And then – ping. It’s Dr Rafferty, calling here and now. ‘Hello, Luna.’
I can’t ignore him, can I? ‘Hi,’ I say, and his image appears in front of me.
‘There you are. Come see me after your dinner.’ Dr Rafferty’s face is calm, unruffled. Nothing on it says where the hell have you been? But not a meeting I’m looking forward to, just the same.
‘Come on. Let’s go,’ Marina says, links an arm in mine and pulls me out the door.
I was wondering if they’d put us in a bigger room, or have more tables or something, but no: same dining room, same tables. Our group is here, and the new interns. No sign of Hex or any of his lot. ‘Where’d Hex’s group go?’
‘They’ve graduated,’ Marina says.
‘What? But where are they?’
Marina shrugs. ‘I don’t know; they all looked impossibly smug about their top-secret assignments, and said they couldn’t tell us. They’re off working now. We had a virtual farewell party last night. You missed it.’
I stare at her, appalled. All those messages from Hex that I haven’t even looked at. ‘But aren’t they still here, on the island?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe not: they left around the same time as the new lot came this morning – there would have been boats here then.’
We sit down and get introduced all round to the newbies. Their eyes are wide. Were mine like that? All impressed with PareCo, the clothes, the rooms, the top of the line equipment. What you can learn to do and the competition against each other.
I zone out enough to check Hex’s messages. They start out with where are you, is everything OK? Move on to an annoyed tone at lack of answer. End with a goodbye. I try messaging him back: no answer. And not because he’s ignoring me: it pings back with Implant not found. Is his Implant offline like mine was before? Where is he?
And what am I going to tell Rafferty?
Dr Rafferty smiles when I come into his office. ‘Have a seat,’ he says. ‘Tea?’
‘No thanks.’
‘I’ve been very worried about you, Luna.’ He’s so earnest, so genuine. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I’m not entirely sure. I was really exhausted, couldn’t seem to think properly. I wandered off and fell asleep. Woke up and went back to sleep in my room. I didn’t wake up until Marina banged on my door just before dinner.’
‘And your Implant?’
‘I switched it off. Didn’t want to get woken up.’
‘Impressive to see how much you’ve learned in the skills-sharing. Is that where you learned how to hack your own Implant?’
‘Sort of.’
He leans back in his chair. ‘Sure you don’t want some tea? No?’ He pours from a teapot into his cup. ‘And how did you unplug from the training world?’ He stirs milk into his tea, eyes not leaving me.
I shrug, and lie. ‘Usual way. Out through the VeeDub door to the MD Gateway.’
‘I see,’ he says, and there is something behind the bland look on his face. Does he know there are things I’m not telling him?
He smiles. ‘Don’t look so worried. We at PareCo love a challenge. We also love rebels, even misguided ones. All the interesting material we get from them – well. Some of our most popular virtual worlds are run by happy PareCo Think Tank employees who used to be rebels.’ His eyes are twinkling like they always do, but this time I’m not fooled. ‘Once we find the right niche for them, they can be very creative, very useful. Don’t worry, Luna. We’ll find the right niche for you.’
That night I lie awake, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling.
They want us to compete at their games, to learn, to get better and better at hacking. And then they want to use us to run more games, games that will hook in more players.
I don’t want to play any more.
41
PareCo might like rebels, but only so long as they are punctual. I get the evils from the Beamer when I come in last for our next adventure. Dragged along by Blood, who they’d picked to chase down the straggler when I ignored an Implant summons.
This time Marina is one of the team leaders, and she picks me first. Because we’re friends, or because after how well I did at skills-sharing I’m a Hacker to be reckoned with? I try not to care, but somewhere inside, I do.
Beamer beams. ‘Today we’re going to a fictional game world, Slated world 12.’ She flips a coin; Marina calls it but loses. ‘You can choose to be either Lorders or Slateds,’ she says to the other team leader. After some consultation, they pick Lorders. Primarily based on wardrobe – apparently they’ll be rather cool in black.
Our team meets in Marina’s hallway. Nausea hits me straight away, but I resist slipping my hand to my pocket for some ANDs back in the PIP. Moments later it eases, then is completely gone. There is the proof: they must be giving me drugs through my PIP feed, just like I thought. But for once being right isn’t a good feeling.
Everyone is here now; there is a new VeeDub door marked Slated 12 at the end of Marina’s hallway. At least we’re the good guys, Marina Implant-whispers, and sighs.
‘What is this fictional world, “Slated”? I’ve never heard of it,’ I say, out loud.
‘Didn’t you study it in English?’ Marina says. ‘The novel was used as an example of what can happen when rulers govern irrationally in pursuit of their own interests, and how ends don’t justify the means. That sort of stuff.’
I shrug. ‘I fell asleep a lot in class.’
‘The first few Slated worlds take you through the plot of the novels; Slated 4 onwards just use the world concept for some fun combat stuff. Slated 12 is new, but I assume it will follow that trend. Basically, as Slateds we were underage criminals who were caught, and our memories erased as punishment. Lorders are part of the evil government we want
to overthrow, to stop Slating and reestablish free democracy.’
‘What do we do: stage a rebellion?’
‘Sort of, but there’s a catch. We’ll have Levos around our wrists. They’re linked to emotions, so if you get upset or angry, you get zapped unconscious; too far and you die. So we can’t commit any acts of violence. And if they catch us, they’ll terminate us. And they’ve got all the nifty weapons.’
‘Great. Sounds like a fair fight, then.’
We step through the new VeeDub door, and on the other side – instant wardrobe change. We’re all dressed the same, in black trousers, white shirts under maroon jumpers with Lord Williams’ School embroidered on them. Old style school uniforms? TACKY. And there they are: Levos around our wrists. They have digital readouts on them; mine says 5.1.
‘What does the number mean?’
‘It’s like a mood ring – it says how happy you are. Five is kind of middling. You’re in trouble if it drops below three.’
‘Do these things actually do anything?’
‘Try this,’ Marina says. She mimes twisting it a little, and I twist it as hard as I can. WHAM. Pain in the skull, like being sledgehammered. There are spots in front of my eyes. Now there are numbers flashing into red on my Levo: 4.2…3.9…
‘Do something! Get happy fast, or you’ll get zapped and it hurts worse than that,’ Marina says.
Stuff this. I close my eyes, find my grid. See myself through it, the device on my wrist. It is actually linked to a chip in my brain? No way. What sort of evil government would do this to teenagers? But it can’t be hacked in this world; it’s not accessible. No normal way, that is. I hack my Implant to block PareCo’s monitoring. Then I reach for the silver shadow inside me. A few tweaks, twists, and they’re gone: the Levo, the chip, the whole lot. It would have made a short story out of a novel if the characters could have done that.
I open my eyes. The others are staring at me, wide mouthed. At my bare wrist.
